Breaking the Cycle
by Fira Wolf-Hunter
Summary: Bethany is a Circle Mage. Phillip is a Templar. Their fates were written for them long ago, or so they thought. But when the Mage-Templar War breaks out, they realize their lives may not be as set in stone as they believed. Now they must survive the war, the Breach, and their own doubts. OC-Centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is an OC-centric _Dragon Age_ fanfic, meaning that while there may be cameos of Canon characters, the focus of this story will be about two OCs just trying to survive all the crazy stuff that happens shortly before, and during the events of _Inquisition_. **

_One_

Bethany's POV

Bethany yawned and stretched and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Long, wavy hair the color of honey flowed down her back, and she ran her fingers through it for a moment before getting up and grabbing the comb off of her bedside table. She took her time getting every tangle out of her hair, and then took the next few minutes to expertly twist it into the braid she'd been using since she was seven. It was practical and not meant for beauty, but just to keep the hair out of her face and out of her way. Light green eyes inspected her work as she turned her head side to side in front of the mirror for a moment, then she nodded and got dressed for the day.

Her outfit was a simple robe and a pair of comfortable sandals she could slip into and out of easily. It's not as though she was going anywhere. She was a Circle Mage. She'd first come here when she was six, and now she was twenty, and had just recently passed her Harrowing without a problem. She barely remembered her family, and didn't honestly think of them very often. She'd been so young when the Circle had taken her that she didn't have many memories of them to begin with. She remembered that her mother always smelled of roses and her father had a kind smile, but when she tried to remember anything beyond that, their faces slipped away, like trying to catch fog in your hands.

Besides, she had friends here. There was Giana, the sassy one who always wanted to put makeup on all of them. And Alexus, who was much like her, wanting to find a good book and read for hours. Bethany didn't know any defensive spells, besides the basic ability to let out bursts of Magic from her staff. She was a Healer. She didn't know how to set things on fire or shoot lightning out of her fingers. She knew how to mend broken bones, erase scars, cool fevers, stop bad dreams. And she could do all of that with or without her Magic. She was very interested in herbalism.

Being twenty meant that she had long since "graduated" from regular lessons, and was allowed to roam the Circle at her leisure. Well, sort of. No Mage ever had permission to go _everywhere_ , but she didn't mind. Most days she stayed in the library, reading book after book. She wasn't even a quarter of the way through all the books there, not that she read all of them. Some of them were incredibly dull. But some of them were _fascinating_ , especially the fictions. She spent a lot of time reading things about plants, or Healing Magic, but her favorites were the novels. The stories that depicted fake people doing things that never really happened. And there was one other reason she loved spending so much of her time in the library.

She had first noticed the boy with the dark hair and the sea-foam eyes when she was seventeen and still went to regular lessons. Templars were not required to wear their helmets at all times, apparently. He'd smiled at her as she'd passed by, and the smile had caught her attention. Because it had been focused on her, and it wasn't vague, the way people smiled when they were faking it. Bethany had never been mistreated by Templars. Not once. She had always enjoyed the feeling of protection they gave her. She never spoke to them and they never spoke to her, but that was how it had always been. She had never questioned that silent guardianship. She'd just… accepted it and welcomed it. As scary and sad as it would be if she became possessed and they had to kill her, she'd rather die to protect the lives of other people than to live and potentially wreak havoc on the entire Circle. She knew that not every Circle Mage felt as she did – in fact a great many of them did not, and they had every right to believe whatever they wanted to.

Generally, she was a traditionalist when it came to matters relating to the Circle, or the Chantry, or Templars. Still, she could not help but… let her eyes wander when _he_ walked by. And he seemed to walk by an awful lot. Especially when she went down to the library. He was there quite often, standing against a back wall. In fact, he didn't really move from his spot against the far wall, so perhaps it would be better to say that _she_ walked by _him_ a lot. Sometimes he was easy to spot, when he did not have his helmet on. She would glance in his direction and get butterflies in her stomach when he would give her one of those soft smiles, and his eyes would crinkle around the edges, which is how she knew it was a _real_ smile. And even if he had his helmet on, he would quietly clear his throat as she would pass him, right on cue, so that she would always know it was him.

Her days were simple and happy. Every morning she would get up and have breakfast, talk to her friends, wander the halls for a time, and then she would retire to the library until lunch. After lunch she would sometimes take a nap, but then she would return to the library again until dinner. Dinner would mark the end of her day, and afterwards she would go to sleep. There was little in the Circle to allow her to deviate from this routine. Sometimes Giana would drag her back to their quarters and play dress-up for a while. But most of the time her days were spent pouring over book after book. Alexus would often follow her down to the library, and this way they kept each other silent company. Whether Alexus knew of Bethany's secret crush on one of the Templars or not, she never said anything about it, and for that, Bethany was grateful.

That morning, she wandered down to the library after breakfast, shivering a little. Autumn had come to Thedas, and that meant the beginning of cold days and night in the Circle. She hummed a little as she walked through the door, glancing around for the boy with the kind smile. This time, he was right next to the door, and she nearly missed him as she walked past, expecting him to be farther into the room. But he cleared his throat softly as he always did, and she turned to smile at him. He was not wearing his helmet today. And he did something he'd never done before in all the years she had silently known him: He _spoke_. It was not unheard of for Templars and Mages to speak. It was not forbidden, though neither was it encouraged. It was an understanding that generally, Templars and Mages were to remain at "arm's length" from one another. Templars could not hesitate if they needed to kill an abomination, so it was generally frowned upon for them to make _friends_ with Mages. However, being courteous, speaking with one another, was usually fine.

Still. The boy with the blue-green eyes had never once said a word to her, so hearing him speak was very strange. Especially when all he said was, "My Lady."

She stopped moving, stood right in front of him. She turned. "What?" She said it in confusion, eyebrows drawn together, and searched his face.

"My Lady," he repeated. "May I… May I know your name?"

He was entirely proper, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. No. Actually, she loved it. He was like a knight from one of her stories, good and proper like a gentleman. Soft-spoken. "My name is Bethany," she said, in a voice lightly accented. It sounded vaguely Orlesian, and when she heard herself speak she often wished she remembered who her parents had been. It was an odd accent for a Fereldan to have, though she supposed that wasn't true for those in the Circle. There were all types here, elves and humans living together, who had originally come from anywhere and everywhere.

"Bethany," he repeated, voice warm. He sounded pleased. "I am Phillip."

"Phillip," she said, though with her accent, it sounded like _Philippe_.

They stood quietly for a moment together, seeming to study one another in curiosity. Phillip cleared his throat after a few seconds. "Enjoy your stay in the library, My Lady Bethany."

"Mm," she replied, and then realized that this might come across as rude. "Thank you, Phillip," she amended, accent playing with his name. And then she wandered off and pulled a book from one of the shelves, seemingly at random.

* * *

Phillip's POV

Phillip Bartrand had no idea what it was about the girl with the honey-colored hair that he liked so much. He supposed he had chosen her at random, perhaps catching the way her hair glowed in the candlelight one day and deciding to watch her for a while. That's what Templars did, after all. They _watched_ Mages. It was… quite a boring affair, every day the same. Looking back on it, he realized how delightfully _interesting_ his training had been compared to the tedium that was now his life. Still, he had chosen this life, and he would happily go along with the tedium if that was what it took to be a Templar. In truth, he would have much preferred to be a knight, though when he thought about it, he realized the only main difference between a Templar and a knight was that one ingested lyrium and the other did not.

Lyrium… Phillip knew as much as the next Templar what happened when Templars had been a part of the Order for thirty, forty years. The mineral that Mages used in their spells and rituals, the one Templars consumed in order to fuel their own Magic-dampening powers, eventually killed you. 'Lyrium-addled,' they called it. It would take your mind before it took your body. You would lose your memories first. Then, when you had lost your usefulness to the Order, they would retire you, and send you rations of lyrium until your death, so that you did not suffer withdrawals. Phillip did not spend too much time contemplating his fate. If he did, he might have gone crazy long ago. Instead, he focused on the _good_ aspects of Templarhood: Having the chance to protect people from abominations, learning the Chant of Light, having steady work. Plus, being a Templar had upped his status a bit. Now his mother, whose main income was whatever _he_ earned, could live in comfort. And then there was _her_.

The girl with the golden hair, whom he had first noticed as she had passed him on her way into a classroom three years ago. She'd caught his eye, probably accidentally, but she'd smiled at him instead of looking hastily away. And he'd smiled back. And, oddly enough, that small interaction had sparked a whole lot more smiling. Now he smiled at her every chance he got. He didn't know why, but he loved those few moments a day with her. He had begun to patrol the library once he had passed it and found her there reading on more than one occasion. Now he spent much of his waking hours there, waiting for her arrival. He had been glad when he'd found out she had passed her Harrowing without incident. He had been glad he hadn't had to be there for it.

He understood that nothing could come of whatever feelings he had for the girl. First of all, they didn't even know each other. A few smiles per day meant… very little in the grand scheme of things. And the much bigger reason was that she was a Mage, and he a Templar. One of the very first things that had been drilled into his mind when he had begun his training was that any sort of close relationship between a Mage and a Templar resulted in _immediate_ punishment and corrective action. Mages were his charges. He watched them, he protected others from them, and them from themselves and each other. They were not to be friends, and they were _definitely_ _not_ to be lovers. All this he knew, and so he remained silent and respectful, standing far away from her, but smiling at her when she would look up. There was no harm in smiling. What sort of honorable man could call himself a Templar, a knight, if he did not even smile at a lady when she looked at him?

And yet, he could not keep his curiosity in check indefinitely. He never shirked his duties – not once. True, he spent a lot of time in the library, but he _did_ patrol other areas. He attended Harrowings, and, when necessary, he slayed any Mage turned abomination. He always felt sick afterwards, no matter how often he reminded himself that abominations were no longer people, and that there was nothing else he could do for the once-Mage except to end their suffering with a quick death. He was never unkind to any Mage. In fact, it was not just the girl with the golden hair to whom he smiled. He smiled at anyone who looked his way, fellow Templar or Mage alike. Only, the golden-haired girl was the only Mage who looked up at him consistently.

And so he remained humbly curious. What did she think about all day while she read? Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of the titles on the covers of the books. _The Botanical Compendium_ , by Ines Arancia, was one she read quite often. And there were many books by someone named _Varric Tethras_ which she seemed to simply _fall into_. She would read for hours, and then look up and seem dazed by how much time had passed. Then she would look around, scanning the back walls of the room, which he had, over time, come to realize meant she was looking for _him_. When he was helmetless, this was easy. She would catch his eye in but a moment, and they would share a smile, and then she would slide all the books back into their right places, and go off on her own for a few hours. When he _was_ wearing a helmet and she tried to find him amidst the other Templars in the room, he would wait for her eyes to fall upon him, and then immediately make an informal bow – a simple lowering of the head. He would quickly lift it again and search for the smile in the eye-slit of his helmet. And so the days went on.

* * *

The day she stepped into the library, eyes roaming the far walls for him, the day he spoke to her, was the beginning of the end. He didn't know it at the time, but some part of him could feel the growing mistrust in the eyes of the Mages who actually looked at him. Everyone had heard, one way or the other, of the explosion at Kirkwall's Chantry. And soon afterwards, news spread of unrest between Templars and Mages. Perhaps this growing feeling in his gut – one that told him danger was coming – is what provoked him to speak to her.

He cleared his throat just as she was about to pass him, still looking farther into the library for him. She stopped and turned and smiled at him as she always did, eyes light and cheery. He wondered why the news of the unrest did not upset her – or didn't seem to. Perhaps she didn't know? Or maybe, like him, she was not _for_ the idea of starting a war when it was unnecessary. "My Lady," he said, without thinking. He immediately blinked a great many times, surprised at himself. He had often wondered what he might say if he ever had the chance to speak to her, and he had never imagined it to happen like this – suddenly, and without any prompting.

She stared at him, mouth open a little, eyebrows drawn together. She looked cute like that, a look of earnest confusion on her face. Then she said, "What?" She asked it in a way that suggested she had not heard him.

"My Lady," he repeated, not wanting to seem rude, since she was asking a question. "May I…" Here he paused. He had no idea what he _may_. Clearly he wanted to say something, though his brain wasn't telling him _what_. He realized after a moment that he just wanted to talk to her. He wanted to say anything and everything. He just wanted her to know that he wasn't silent because he disliked the idea of speaking to her. Finally, he made up his mind about what he wanted to ask. "May I know your name?"

"My name is Bethany," she said, and her voice was lilting, sprinkled with some non-Fereldan accent or other.

He smiled and repeated her name. It was a nice name. Common, but pretty. Of course, his name was also common. Oh, his name! "I am Phillip," he quickly interjected, lest he seem rude. He gave one of his short head-bows.

" _Philippe_ ," she said, twirling his name into something far less common this side of Thedas. He decided he adored her accent. He smiled at her for a few seconds, enjoying this small moment. Then he realized it would probably be best that they separate from one another, so he wished her well, and watched as she wandered away to her books. He wondered if this would be the only time they ever spoke.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

Bethany's POV

Later, when Bethany attempted to remember the moment when she realized that something was horribly wrong, all she ended up with were flashes of things: Screaming, the sound of spells bouncing off of walls or cutting Templars down, doors breaking apart. Her memories of that night were fuzzy, broken. Too many things were happening at once around her, and she had been too focused on making sure she was safe and hidden to pay much attention to anything else. She knew she had ended up in the library at some point, running blindly to the one safe place she thought she had. But there were Templars there, too. She stood frozen to the spot, thinking they would turn and kill her at any second. That never happened. They were fighting… each other? They both had their helmets on, so they were just more collateral damage to her. She took the opportunity to run past them and go and find a dark space between two bookshelves to hide.

Her brain wasn't working right. At this point, she was tired and scared and she was crying. She hoped that maybe both Templars would kill each other, and then she could just… stay hidden there until the rest of the Circle grew quiet. Maybe no one would notice her. Maybe she'd stay alive if she just kept her head down and didn't try to help anyone. It didn't matter, anyways. Alexus and Giana were both dead. She had searched every angry face for Phillip, but had been unsuccessful. Of course, every Templar had a helmet on, but no burning eyes had been his shade of sea-green.

She didn't know why she thought of him. No, that wasn't true. She knew _why_ – she wanted him to be there – to save her – to protect her. But she didn't know why she thought he _would_. He had been kind to her, sure, but that didn't mean he would turn against his entire Order. And what if he _did_? He would be a traitor. She didn't expect him to _kill_ her, necessarily, but he certainly wouldn't _protect_ her, either. No, she was alone. She curled up between the bookshelves and cried as quietly as she could as fear and adrenaline coursed through her, and the Templars in the middle of the room continued to fight.

But, in truth, fights never lasted very long. In her novels, the authors imagined great duels between two people to last endless minutes. In reality, all it took was one slip-up, and you were dead. Either that, or the person you were dueling was an idiot. She realized after thirty seconds in the dark, with her arms over her head, that the fighting had stopped. She remained perfectly still, realizing now, with dread, that perhaps this had been the worst possible hiding place. She did not breathe, praying to the Maker that the Templar would leave, and she would be left alone.

But the sound of approaching footsteps made her start hyperventilating. The steps grew closer and closer. She refused to move her arms from her head. If she was to die, she did not want to see it coming. And even if she did, she was paralyzed with fear. Her arms refused to move.

"Bethany?" The name was hissed in the darkness, harsh and loud. "My Lady Bethany?"

She instantly gained control of her arms and lowered them, sitting up and staring into the darkness. "Ph-Philippe?"

"It _was_ you I saw run past. Come with me, quickly. We must get out of the Circle before anyone else comes into the library."

A looming man in a Templar's silhouette leaned down towards her, and in her panic, she gasped and leaned backwards, away from him.

"Bethany?" His voice was strained and tired and coarse.

"I – take off your helmet," she demanded.

Without question, he removed the steel helmet and knelt down, as if he realized that he was frightening her. He remained silent.

She crawled towards him, and the faint light from outside lit his features just enough for her to recognize him. It had been brighter in the center of the room, where the shelves did not block the light. Not every aisle had a window to light the books, so without candlelight or Magelight, it was nearly impossible to see anything in the windowless aisles at night. That's why she had chosen this spot to hide, hoping the dark would disguise her. Now, she had to get very close to his face to see the features she recognized – the shape of his eyes, his nose, his face. She could not see the color of his eyes, but she imagined that they softened then, in the quiet and the dark.

For just a moment, she touched his face, and then there was a loud _Boom!_ from somewhere in the Circle. Phillip stood, jammed his helmet back on his head, and grabbed her hand, pulling her up. "Forgive me, My Lady," he said, as he began to nearly drag her around by the arm. "We must leave _now_."

Bethany ran to keep up with him, having no choice on the matter since he had her arm in a vice-like grip. "Ow!" she complained, though more to herself than to him.

He immediately loosened his grip, but did not let go as they exited the library and began the mad dash for the first floor. Mages and Templars lay dead or dying, littering the floor. One Mage came running out of a door to their right. He noticed Phillip immediately, and Bethany saw the rage in his eyes. She tried to access her Magic, to throw a barrier around herself and her rescuer, but her Magic wasn't working. Panicked, her eyes fell upon the Mage again, who also seemed to have trouble casting any spells. She realized that it must be Phillip. He must be using his dampening powers. She knew he couldn't keep that up for long, though. It took a lot of concentration for Templars to use their powers, especially in situations like this. That's why when Templars were needed, they always went in groups. Multiple Templars had a much higher chance of using their powers effectively than one alone.

* * *

Phillip's POV

Phillip saw the Mage run practically right in front of him, and he was glad his powers were still holding out. But with each passing moment, he could feel his strength draining. They had to leave while he could still make a Dampening Shield or they would be prey for every angry Mage they came across. Not that Mages were their only worry. He'd just had to kill one of his Brothers in the Order because he refused to fight the Mages. His Brother had taken issue with that, accused him of desertion, and attempted to kill him. Phillip hated fighting, but sometimes it was necessary.

The next few minutes were a haze – a struggle between focusing enough on his surroundings to get them _out of there_ , and concentrating enough on his Templar powers to keep the Dampening Shield active around both of them. He knew that he had cut off Bethany's Magic, too, but it was better she also be protected from any spells flung in their general direction. He yanked her down the stairs and they nearly face-planted halfway down. The trip caused his concentration to flicker, and he grimaced as he felt the Shield die away. He didn't have enough energy to put up another one without ingesting lyrium, and that was out of the question.

He flinched and gripped his sword handle when he felt the Magical Shield surround him. Shield… No, that was Bethany, then. He squeezed her arm, still held in one gauntlet – he would _not_ lose her in the chaos – as the massive front doors finally came into view. "Come on!" he urged, well aware that there were about three different groups of fights that they would have to run through to get out. He felt her slow down. She was exhausted. And so was he, frankly. Without thinking, he spun around, put an arm across the back of her knees, and picked her up. He was tired, yes, but he had trained for moments like this. He would run until his body gave out if he had to. She was a Mage. She did not have the same stamina reserves.

He turned back around and charged straight for the group of Mages and Templars, who seemed too busy fighting _each other_ to notice them. Unfortunately, that luck did not hold out. One of the Templars broke away from his fight when he noticed them coming and stood in Phillip's path.

"Where are you going, Templar?" he shouted. "We need you here!"

Phillip turned his body sideways, holding Bethany close to his chest, and felt his back graze the Templar's gauntlet. He expected the man to grab his shoulder or something, but that didn't happen. He didn't look back to see why not. He just ran headlong down the stairs, and out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I'll have to make this fic slightly AU in order to move it along at a sufficient pace. I have inserted an otherwise non-existent second Circle of Magi in Ferelden, including the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad, because I needed Phillip and Bethany to be in Ferelden from the start. I haven't decided where exactly the AU Circle _is_ , but that isn't as important as long as everyone knows it is somewhere in Ferelden.**

* * *

 _Three_

Bethany's POV

Phillip had been running for so long that Bethany had lost count of the seconds in her head. But he had begun to pant heavily and slow down, and she knew they needed to stop. "Philippe," she said, voice jostled by the movement of his running. "Philippe, stop."

"I… cannot… My Lady," he panted. "There may be… people behind us."

"Philippe," she repeated. "Stop. You are exhausted."

"I am sorry, My Lady. I cannot." He sucked in a breath, hard, like he had just hurt himself.

Bethany grew angry at his stubbornness. "Philippe, you listen to me right now! You _will_ stop! You are in pain, possibly injured, and tiring yourself out will help neither of us!"

In the darkness, it was momentarily terrifying when Phillip suddenly dropped to his knees with a grunt. She let out a gasp, but he held her firmly to his chest, panting hard. Something wet dripped onto her face, and she quickly lit Magelight in her palm, blinding both of them for a few seconds. Phillip cried out in surprise. "What is that?"

"Sorry. It's Magelight. I'm checking to see if you have any injuries." When they had grown used to the light, she asked him to remove his helmet.

He set her down in the grass and leaves and took off his helmet, setting it down beside him. She lifted the light back up to his face. He looked eerie in the off-white glow, shadows dancing on his face. She examined it for a moment, and determined that it had been sweat that had dripped onto her face, not blood, as she had feared.

She slowly roamed his armored body with the Magelight, checking for dents that would suggest injury. She found one in the armor covering his right arm, a few inches below his shoulder, and winced. He had been carrying her with an injured arm. "I need you to remove part of your armor, Philippe," she said. "I can heal you."

"With Magic?"

She looked up at him. "Don't you trust me? You must have saved me for a reason."

He looked into her eyes for a moment, sighed, and began to remove his right gauntlet. She waited quietly. He set it down beside his helmet in the grass and took a minute to _gingerly_ remove the rerebrace (a piece of armor that covers the upper arm). He winced as he pulled it off. That wasn't good. She held the light up to the injury after he had rolled up the sleeve of his undershirt, and sighed in relief. It didn't actually look that bad. It was more bruised than anything else. She lowered the Magelight to the rerebrace and inspected the dent. There was no puncture hole, which meant that whatever had hit it had not hit it very hard.

"Your arm can be easily healed," she ensured, and placed her free hand over the discolored section of his arm. Her eyes closed in concentration as she _felt_ for the wound with Magic. Tendrils of concentrated Magic prodded gently at the forming bruise and small cut, and then wove themselves into his skin and spread out. After a few seconds, Bethany opened her eyes again and smiled. "There."

Phillip pulled his arm in front of him, turning his neck a little to better see the area. It was perfectly normal, as if he had never been injured in the first place. "Thank you, My Lady Bethany." He strapped the rebrace back onto his arm, slid the gauntlet on, and put his helmet back on his head. Then he stopped and didn't move for a full minute. He seemed frozen to the spot.

"Philippe?" she said, looking at him in concern.

Without a word, he removed his helmet, and then began to remove the gauntlet and rebrace he had just put back on.

"What are you doing?"

"Removing my armor. The Circle is not safe anymore, and neither is the Order. It would be better if I was not walking around in Templar armor."

Bethany stared at him in the glow of the Magelight in her palm, and then she began to cry. "What are we going to do? Wh-where will we _go_? I have never been outside the Circle before – not since I was too young to remember… I don't want to leave the Circle, or the Templars! They always _protected_ me! I – I don't understand!"

She felt warm fingers caress her face, and despite her tears, she shivered from his touch in delight. It calmed her somewhat, though she still breathed erratically, and let out a small sob every few seconds. She kept her eyes to the ground, feeling ashamed of herself. There could be an angry horde of people behind them and she was too busy crying to get up and run. She didn't feel bad about her emotions in and of themselves. There was nothing wrong with being afraid or sad. But when those emotions started to cloud your judgment, it was time to push them aside. Yet, she couldn't. Her friends were dead. _So many people were dead_.

She gasped when he sat down completely and pulled her into his chest. His armor was cold, but the hands in her hair and on her back were warm. Eventually, she calmed down enough to quit blubbering, and sat up fully. She missed his hands when they stopped touching her, leaving marks of cold against the previous warmth. In her crying fit, the Magelight had gone out. She relit it in her palm.

Phillip touched her face gently, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. Then he stood and began to remove the rest of his armor as he spoke. "I'm not yet sure where we'll go. I know there is a city nearby, though I'm not sure what good a city would do us. Templars are not paid." He went silent for a moment, pulling off his cuirass. "Perhaps I could look for a temporary job. We need enough money to buy some food and extra clothes – maybe some leather armor for myself."

Bethany tried to think of something useful she could possibly do. Templars were trained in many things, not just fighting. All she knew was Magic – oh! And healing! "I could, perhaps, go to the Chantry and offer my services as a healer."

"No, Bethany!" he quickly replied. "No Magic. Not anymore. Not ever. With the rebellion going on… if anyone found out you were a Mage." He sighed. "No Magic."

"But I don't _have_ to use Magic to be a healer. I know herbology, too, and how to stitch wounds and reset bones – at least in theory."

"Oh, that's right. I always saw you reading books on herbology and healing. Maybe you _could_ go to the Chantry."

He placed the last of his armor on the ground, and then leaned down and held out his hands for her. Bethany extinguished the Magelight in her palm and lifted herself up with his help.

"Let's go," Phillip said. And they went.

* * *

Phillip's POV

Holding Bethany had been… odd for him. To touch her in _any_ way had been odd, but holding her as she cried… He had never even imagined doing such a thing. Under what circumstances would he have needed to hold her like that? He thought it was sad that only in a world gone mad would it become all right to hold a woman he cared for. He couldn't really feel much of her through the armor covering his chest, but he felt her with his hands. He kept one on the back of her head, gently keeping her close to him, and one on her back. No one had ever held him when he'd been upset. He knew they needed to _move_ , but he wasn't going to be an ass about it. She needed to cry – she needed to get this out of her system. So did _he_ , actually, but his Templar training held in the tears for now. He could cry later.

When he had finished removing his armor, and they had talked about what they would do, he held out his hands for her and pulled her to her feet. As he began to walk, a little slowly, since it was dark and it would do no good to trip over a root or a rock, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt her move closer to him. She brushed her fingers against his hand, and he took it without hesitation.

"I am going to use Magelight," she said quietly.

"All right."

A moment later, that off-white glow lit her free palm, and Bethany held it out in front of her. It lit a small area around them – not much, but it was enough to ensure that they wouldn't stumble into a tree in the dark.

"Remember, My Lady," he said after a moment. "You cannot use Magic once we reach the city. No one can know what we were. We are not a Templar and a Mage any longer. We are refugees, seeking work where we can take it."

He heard her sigh. "Must we deny who we are, Philippe?"

He squeezed her hand. "For now, we must. Perhaps one day we will no longer need to hide. But for now, we have no choice. We must do what it takes to survive."

Bethany went silent for a long time. He remained quiet, as well, letting her think. Eventually, she said, "I understand. But I don't like it."

"Neither do I, My Lady."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry for the late update. College insists I shouldn't have a life. XD Reviews are welcome!**

* * *

 _Four_

Bethany's POV

When Phillip had said that the nearest city was _nearby_ , what he meant was _two weeks away on foot_. And they would have to go past Lothering, which was still infested with Darkspawn from the last Blight nearly a decade ago. That meant they would have to go off the road and into the Hinterlands to avoid them, and risk getting lost, or getting mauled by a bear, or some other horrifying thing. Bethany was no soldier. She wasn't built for this sort of… _adventure_. But she kept her complaints to herself, and trudged along the road as best she could. They'd only been traveling for a day.

Bethany knew Phillip was going at a slow pace for her, and it made her feel very guilty. She had tried to consistently walk faster, but he had noticed and had cautioned her against doing so, telling her not to tire herself out. He insisted that he didn't care how long it took them to get to Redcliffe, but that didn't make her feel any better. Besides, taking a long time was the least of their worries. No matter _how_ long it took them to reach their destination, they had a much bigger problem to face.

"I'm hungry," Bethany said, and then blushed as her stomach growled loudly.

"I am too," Phillip said, and stopped in the road. "I haven't a clue how to hunt, or how to set traps."

"I've been studying herbs and plants for years. I know what they look like, and which ones are edible or non-edible. It's not much, and we'd have to get off the road to go looking, but it's something."

"Eating plants and berries will not sustain us for a journey all the way to Redcliffe."

"I know. But we have to start _somewhere_. Maybe we can come up with a better solution while we look for plants." Bethany paused. "Actually, you'd better let _me_ look. I'm more familiar with edible plants versus poisonous plants than you are."

"I believe you, My Lady. My Templar training was much in the way of education, but learning to differentiate between plants was not part of that. Of course, I know what an _Elfroot_ looks like, but who doesn't?"

"Actually, Elfroot is probably our best bet in terms of edible plants."

Phillip grimaced. "That will get old very quickly."

"Yes, I know. But let's go."

* * *

Phillip's POV

Phillip was a warrior, a soldier. He was not accustomed to doing… _nothing_. Well, actually, that wasn't entirely true. At the Circle, he'd done very little. He'd gone to a few Harrowings, sure, but _most_ of the time, the Mages came out fine and dandy, and his Templar services ended up being unnecessary. He was grateful that he was not often _needed_ , because when warriors were needed, it was usually only for bad things, like war. Still, fighting was in his blood. So following Bethany around forest paths all day, when there was surprisingly little dangerous wildlife about, was very boring.

Still, he was learning. She was teaching him, little by little, to identify the different plants around him. He learned that there were many more plants than he had ever even thought about. He knew the simple ones: Elfroot, Deathroot, the like. But these new ones – Spindleweed, that grew in shallow water, Dawn Lotus, and Crystal Grace whose flowers were shaped like bells. Phillip began to appreciate Bethany's studies of the natural world, and the more she taught him, the more he appreciated her for it.

He had to stop her every now and then, listening to the sounds of the forest, alert for danger, and during those moments she would utterly freeze, like a mouse caught in the sights of a cat. Whatever had spooked him usually turned out to be nothing, and they would continue on. Once, he found a pile of bear scat, fresh, and immediately rerouted them in a wide arc around the area. They never ran into the bear.

In these tense moments, she would revert to the back, staying close behind him, peeking around at the world from behind his arm. If they ran into anything bad now, they'd be utterly helpless. His sword and shield bore the mark of the Templars, so he'd also had to leave those behind. Out in the wilderness, where there was no one else around, Phillip had no problems with Bethany's Magic, but he did not want to rely on it unless he had to. Besides, Magic use could be exhausting, he knew.

And there was one other thing he was worried about… Going a few days without a Lyrium ration was fine. But… Lyrium withdrawal _was_ a real problem. Out here, away from the Circle or other Templars, he would have to go without Lyrium – maybe forever. He had never suffered a withdrawal before, but considering he would probably never take the mineral again, he prayed to the Maker that the symptoms were tolerable. He needed to be strong and alert. Bethany couldn't fight, not even with Magic. She had already told him she didn't know any offensive spells. She was _just_ a Healer. So it was up to him, and only him, to keep them safe from any threats they came across. And if he was suffering terrible withdrawal symptoms… he didn't know how affective he could be in a fight.

"Philippe?" Her lilting voice brought him out of his thoughts. She was looking at him in concern. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He smiled, shaking the thoughts from his mind. It would do no good to worry now. There was nothing he could do about it if he began suffering withdrawal. If it happened, he would just have to deal with it. He placed a hand on her cheek, and brightened when it made her smile. "Yes, My Lady. I am all right."

Bethany kept her gaze upon him, eyes never faltering. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, and they breathed in at the same time. He put a hand on the back of her head, gently, to hold her there, and they were silent for a time. Then he stood properly again and observed the way the light had changed in the sky.

"We should make camp for the night."

Bethany laughed. "That doesn't mean much when we have nothing to shelter us."

Phillip frowned slightly, looking around some more. A few feet away was a very large tree, whose roots rose above the ground and twisted 'round themselves. He smiled and walked over to it, examining it more closely. "My Templar training included survival skills – how to build shelter and fire." He turned to her. "You can help me. We need to gather long, thick sticks – strong enough to support a little weight. And a lot of leaves and grass and dirt."

Bethany nodded, and they both began to walk around in ever-widening circles, collecting bits and pieces of things they would need.

* * *

Bethany's POV

They were snuggled under a pile of mulch, nestled between the roots of a gigantic tree, with a roof of leaves over their heads. It wasn't comfortable, and she was cold. But the plants they had collected had staved off the worst of their hunger and she was ready to go to sleep, exhausted from the day.

She tried not to move under the blanket of leaves, afraid it would fall apart if she did. Eventually, she deigned to turn her head to the side to look at him. She couldn't really see him in the dark, so she whispered, "Philippe?"

"My Lady?" His voice was barely above a whisper, soft and concerned.

'I…" She couldn't think of anything to say. She finally managed to get out the words, "Good night."

She felt the shifting of the leaves as he slowly, carefully, moved his arm. He took her hand. His own was warm, which was a pleasant surprise in the cold of the night air. "Good night, My Lady," he said.

That night, she slept surprisingly well.


End file.
